


Pull Me From The Dark

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Affection, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Body Language, Declarations Of Love, Doctor/Patient, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Heart-to-Heart, Heartache, Intimacy, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Medical Examination, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Story within a Story, Symbolism, Time Skips, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 06:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: I wanted to understand what I was seeing; I wanted it to be clear before I laid my eyes on you again. If this--if our love--would hurt me.I wanted to know that I was luring a fish that would come back, that he would bite even if he wasn’t hungry, that he would come without being called, and that I can cast my line and see him again. I wanted to create a reality where only he and I existed. I wanted this lure to be the thing he wanted, even though the fisherman kept throwing him back.That’s why I took so long.They were in a place where darkness couldn’t touch them, and the only darkness Yuuri wanted to see was when he closed his eyes and thought about how sweet Viktor’s lips would feel against his own.





	Pull Me From The Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Libika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libika/gifts), [lucycamui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucycamui/gifts).



> Gifted to the love of my life, and gifted to the writer who inspired me to try new things with my writing.
> 
> I’m not much of a romantic writer, but this was a fun story idea I wanted to do. I saved this idea from the dreaded abandoned pile and crafted the idea into the story it is today.

If ever there was a moment when his body knew that something was about to happen, a twitch resonated the tip of Yuuri’s fingers. Much so, he buried his hands into his pockets when he encountered the soft bounce of Dr. Nikiforov’s bangs. He beckoned Yuuri to take a seat when their eyes met, an ocean beside the sandy verge of where land met its due course. Yuuri took him on his offer.

Past the threshold, strawberries wafted against Yuuri’s face like a summer breeze. Perhaps, from when Dr. Nikiforov wrapped an arm around the curve of Yuuri’s shoulders. Leading him into the office before the quiet click of the door behind them. There was nothing to fear, little of nothing to hide, for the reassuring scent was from an aftershave that came with a ship on the bottle. A bait, too hard for Yuuri to ignore before his senses grasped tightly around the hook of Dr. Nikiforov’s ways. Feeling himself growing lost to the motions that Dr. Nikiforov led him through when they were alone like this, and Yuuri had grasped the hook too harshly to free himself.

Still, there were holes along the edge of his mouth from when the prongs dragged him. Against what his mind wanted, but did what his heart had begged since the beginning. As ill-tempered as a hook was, Dr. Nikiforov cloaked over him a sort of benevolence where he didn’t tug on the line nor coaxed Yuuri to follow where the lure prompted him to go. A fisherman could whisper into his net, tenderize his bait until the rawness emotions reared their head, but none could compel to bite unless it wanted to. And even then, the course of the battle was between the fish and the hook.

Dr. Nikiforov could only watch as Yuuri struggled against the imaginary threads, binding him until he choked on his breath, until Yuuri finally popped the imaginary hook out from his mouth. The inside of his person, tender and sore to the touch, but Yuuri felt more at ease now that he was free. His head tipped back when relief cascaded over him, as if he took a step under a waterfall. About to roll his head to the side before he remembered he wasn’t quite alone in this office and he felt the consensual brush of Dr. Nikiforov’s gaze. Upon his shoulders, upon his back, and to that empty space above his palm where he could’ve held the doctor’s hand.

This wasn't a physical examination. Yuuri outlined that when he scheduled this appoint, days prior with the front desk. They were accommodating, simple in how they asked their questions and documented Yuuri’s responses when he told of what ailed him. Much as then and as much as now, his heart ached when the lies fluttered from Yuuri’s lips. Not as fledglings, but as crooked birds. Aware of what made Yuuri’s heart ticked and how to crush the stirrings before the inevitable sear that branded a new scar, a new ache that etched how much of a slave Yuuri felt in his own body. Not to any other for the matter was between his heart and mind. Neither, ready to relinquish their hold and these aches were the bullets that Yuuri took with him to the grave.

So when Dr. Nikiforov took him by the hand, guiding Yuuri to a place where there was no darkness, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel at ease. Despite how every rational nerve in his being told him to recoil, to reject, to snatch his hand back and expect better. Logic aside, Yuuri couldn’t do that. Not while the dear doctor had treated him with nothing but respect and care, and Yuuri couldn’t bear to sever that link between them.

“Are you fine if I take your coat off?” Dr. Nikiforov glanced up from his hands and found the soft edge at Yuuri’s shoulders, where his coat began to slip.

“Please, as you wish.” Yuuri’s breaths came in short spurts, peppered with a glint of satisfaction when Dr. Nikiforov peeled one of his layers away. Dr. Nikiforov folded the papery coat and placed it over a wooden stand, perched near the door. It felt strange. Vulnerable without a mask to hide behind, but this was merely the beginning and Yuuri still felt his restraints when he surveyed his seating options. Teetering back and forth on which he felt safer against.

In the end, he chose the examination table. Leaning against it before he comfortably perched himself along the edge. Until the tips of his sneakers squeaked against the floor and Yuuri glanced up. Caught sight of Dr. Nikiforov as he slipped his stethoscope off. Simply doing his job, even if there was a certain appeal to how meticulously his fingers worked. And for a moment, Yuuri envisioned the same fingers running through his hair before they trailed behind his ear. Teasing Yuuri in such a way that Dr. Nikiforov had discovered long ago and Yuuri would’ve fallen then. Into the splash of desire as it lapped over his body in waves and a gulp constricted Yuuri’s throat when he tried to shake the fantasy out from his mind.

The tempo of his heart shifted, ever-so slightly. Numbering how long he had left if he wanted to leave this office alive. With his wits about him?, it was hard to deduce on such short notice. Perhaps, it could start when Yuuri glanced elsewhere. Aware, that Dr. Nikiforov was aware that he was staring longer than he should've.

If the good doctor minded, it didn't show in that split smile meant to ease Yuuri’s heart. Oh, the gesture was the director that lifted his hands before the downbeat for  _ William Tell’s Overture,  _ and the melody throttled each of Yuuri’s senses until the world came to him in a darker shade.

Death by infatuation sounded too much like a fairytale until Yuuri experienced, so he kept to _ \--or, attempted to-- _ his best behavior as Dr. Nikiforov walked through the motions of his civic duty.

A flick of his tongue sticking out from between his lips, Dr. Nikiforov paged through his clipboard as he took his seat on a stool. Equal to Yuuri if he glanced up from his patient’s medical record, and Dr. Nikiforov underlined the recorded “N/A” for cardiovascular diseases. With his pinkie, of course, since nothing could be confirmed without a thorough examination. If Yuuri cared for a physical checkup, but he wasn’t sure if either of them could last long before they succumbed to the matters of the heart and tamed the other in a manner that neither could deny. Such a thought made it difficult to look at Yuuri, clearly in the eye.

Dr. Nikiforov unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled the fabric back until his wrists were naked under the office lights. Much as how a lover would slip the edge of their sleeve off from their shoulder before throwing a look back, to catch the wandering gaze and make it their own. Such a tactic didn’t work on Yuuri. He was rather immune to chaos if it wasn’t his own, but Yuuri tempted his gaze when Dr. Nikiforov slipped back into his professionalism with a slight tilt to his face.

As if an imaginary hand rested softly against him and led Dr. Nikiforov to the angle he needed to be in to capture a kiss on the other side. The fantasy blossomed when Yuuri imagined one of his hands, resting softly on the curve of Dr. Nikiforov’s jawline as a purr vibrated the skin. A simplicity of action, quicker than a knife when Yuuri found himself spilling when he thought of the contact. Yuuri pressed his thighs together, adjusting his glasses to band-aid the last of his rationale.

Anything to keep his heart in-check, but Dr. Nikiforov was crumbling his walls. One brick at a time.

A ragged breath overcame Yuuri, eliciting a cough that gripped his chest. He hid behind the crook of his elbow, biting into the flesh in before him to dull the sputters bounced up from his diaphragm. Until he felt in control once more, and Yuuri licked his wound to ease his ache. His condition _ \--of love, such a beautiful pain-- _ had started again, and Yuuri couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t feel the symptoms creeping in during the past ninety seconds or so.

He had to even his breathing, at least be somewhat sure of what he had gotten himself into.

It’d be... _ what was the word?,  _ inopportune if he passed out. Dr. Nikiforov was a busy man and moreover, this encounter was towards the end of his shift. No one else could walk in and say that Yuuri was holding their time hostage. However, Yuuri felt that he would do just the same with Dr. Nikiforov’s.

Time was of the essence, but Yuuri wanted to stretch this appointment until dinner, until he could walk by Dr. Nikiforov’s side as their dogs went out on an evening brisk, and possibly until they retreated up to the same apartment and were merely doors away from crawling back to each other’s warmth.

Yuuri shook his head. His imagination tried to pull him under, and the thump-thump of his heart ached Yuuri.  _ Horribly.  _ He had WebMD-ed his symptoms before, testing them against other reputable sites and not just the first link after he typed in a peculiar set of words, and all the sites pointed him to the same direction:  _ Love. _

Fingers crumbled against the wax paper draped over the examination table, Yuuri inhaled deeply before an exhale sputtered between his lips. Unsure of how or where to begin, so Dr. Nikiforov played his part. Comfortable on his stool, Dr. Nikiforov glanced down at his clipboard for a brief moment.

“When you scheduled this appointment, you specifically asked to see me.” His fingers drummed against his clipboard while he crossed his legs. Elegance upon a pedestal. “Reviewing your records, I believe that you could’ve seen anyone else. And yet, you chose me.”

Dr. Nikiforov didn’t mean to smile, but it rattled a shaky exhale that flushed the surface of Yuuri’s skin. He took that as a sign. Teases were good, but in small and manageable doses for his patient. And if anything, it was poor taste to give Yuuri a cardiovascular disease when something beneficial could soothe his heart instead. From what Dr. Nikiforov could recall when the front desk briefed him on what the appointment was to entail. A mere hour before Yuuri arrived to the hospital, and Dr. Nikiforov kept himself busy as the clock ticked to their chance meeting once more. He bowed his head, in due respect.

“I apologize if I was a bit straightforward.” About to hide behind his clipboard once more, but hearing the tremble in Yuuri’s voice lured Dr. Nikiforov back from his wayward place.

“I requested for you because I think you understand this more than…” A slosh of saliva crawled down Yuuri’s throat with a painful urge. His body wasn’t his own in that moment, inflamed by an emotion Yuuri couldn’t quite control. He was doing so well before this; but here before Dr. Nikiforov’s watchful gaze, all his self-control became the shackle that constricted his throat.

He tried to breathe, but his lungs were only able to serve when Yuuri heard Dr. Nikiforov’s voice. Calling out from the tinted darkness that tunneled Yuuri’s vision, and Yuuri nearly slipped into the oblivion before he heard the shriek of the stool’s leg. Scraped against the floor when Dr. Nikiforov reached from that gray space, beyond from what Yuuri could see. He squinted, managed to discern the wisp of Dr. Nikiforov’s figure on the horizon.

“Inhale.”

Yuuri breathed in.

“Exhale.”

It took eight seconds. All the words he wanted should’ve said, could’ve said, and wouldn’t have said manifested into a storm within Yuuri’s body. Hurting him because none were said, hurting Yuuri more than how his heart was gutting him now.

Dr. Nikiforov led him through this exercise for another minute or so until Yuuri’s breathing evened out, and when Yuuri was able to move on his own again. Moderately drenched from head to toe in his own sweat, so Dr. Nikiforov passed a towel. Careful to keep his distance in case he inflamed Yuuri’s symptoms.

If there was a thanks to be said, Dr. Nikiforov only heard it after Yuuri pressed the towel against his lips. Murmured so quietly that the good doctor had to lean in to listen and even then, Yuuri spoke in his native tongue. A few more phrases trailed out, but they were more like thoughts.

Dr. Nikiforov scooted his stool forward, slowly bridging the gap between him and Yuuri.

“Do you feel calmer now?”

“More than before,” Yuuri managed. His mind felt clearer. Perhaps, from the verbal intimacy of knowing that Dr. Nikiforov would catch him if he happened to fall. That, alone, gave Yuuri strength when he teetered at the edge of his mind, wondering if he should fall-through with what he intended or retreat and call it quits for another time.

His heart played through a little rhythm. Loud enough to evade his thoughts, but quiet enough to subdue for the meantime when Yuuri gathered himself. He really couldn't think straight when he was alone like this with Dr. Nikiforov. It made Yuuri wonder how he was able to survive for this long, and his dear heart wiggled around like a bird about to take flight. After what felt like an hour of fidgeting with his thighs pressed until a thin layer of sweat softened his tension, Yuuri found his words from some godforsaken corner of his rationale.

“I picked for you because you’re part of the reason why I'm like this.” Yuuri licked the roof of his mouth.   _ “I think you can help me.” _

A pop at the end of his statement, and Yuuri wiggled his lure and found that Dr. Nikiforov had bitten the other side. The three-pronged hook protruded out from the side of his mouth, anchored tenderly into his person when Yuuri reeled the line.

If it were possible to capture a play-by-play for the range of expressions that ghosted over Dr. Nikiforov’s face, Yuuri would pinpoint the exact moment when he shook the doctor to his core. The raspiness of his voice probably helped, and maybe his last statement came out more flirtatious than he intended it to be _.  _ Whatever the case was, Dr. Nikiforov rested his clipboard over his lap.

In actuality, it dropped with a soft thud and slid off from his leg. Spinning slowly across the tiled floor and to the edge of oblivion when Dr. Nikiforov clasped his hands together.

“How did this condition begin?” His voice, or rather, his breath barely rose above a whisper when Dr. Nikiforov caught himself in a trance. Just by the gradual gloss that overtook his gaze when he felt an intrepid stir in his chest.

“It started about a year ago,” Yuuri said.

_ It started when I met you. _

* * *

Love at first sight played second fiddle to most people’s notions of what true love meant, but the cliché was the butter to Yuuri’s bread. It was the same breakfast that he had chewed and swallowed for nine months, two weeks, and three days. Counted since he first locked on eyes on Dr. Nikif-- _ no, when he first met Viktor.  _ Simply three doors away in the same apartment complex, and Yuuri rarely arrived without a courtesy call.

This was back when he wasn’t aware that Viktor was a doctor, and nor was Viktor aware that Yuuri was a writer. Preparing for an editor’s, one-on-one meeting by day; slowly editing with a tequila and red pen by night. Quite the opposite to the rigid, no-nonsense schedule that furnished the walls of Viktor’s design, but he always looked forward to the shatter of a teacup when Yuuri poured his presence upon Viktor’s doorstep. They happened to have crossed paths one morning, a quarter past eight.

The faintest waft of tequila dressed Yuuri like a perfume. Accentuating his natural scent _ \--if indeed, he had such a thing-- _ and signaled to his neighbors that he had a rough night. A date with a red pen as he waded through his rough drafts with an editor’s eyes. Glasses perched at the tip of his nose, half of his world blurred to confusion while the only clarity before him were his mistakes. At, the ungodly hour of three, Yuuri crashed. He had closed his eyes for a moment after tossing a squeaky toy when Vicchan fetched for it under the mattress

Yuuri was a visual writer, by heart. Tucked in his brain were the blueprints to understand the human mind and make it his own when he sketched profiles and slipped into his characters’ shoes. He could close his eyes and peer into the mind of a politician, hiding behind a poker face for the press. He could balance a pencil over the bridge of his nose and pretend to be a reaper. A red pen as his scythe. He could walk along the edge of the world, or swim amongst the ocean’s darkest mysteries. But alas, with the project he was working on currently, the thrill of falling in love was foreign to him.

His main characters didn’t...click.

Their interactions were strange, as if they read from a script than performed with their heart. Their dialogue sounded like a broken record, stuck on the same note without a dynamic to propel the conversation forward. Just days before, everything clicked as if it couldn’t be done in any other way. The flow was phenomenal, easy for the eyes to follow as Yuuri typed with a mid-afternoon coffee. And perhaps, at the same time, Vicchan sat close to Yuuri’s side and motivated him with soft nudges when Yuuri wasn’t sure of what to type next. With a simple bork, that was what Yuuri needed when his fingers found their grip on his laptop’s keyboard once more. And afterwards, a cross-section of the world was at his fingertips.

Somewhere along the way, while imagining this, Yuuri lulled himself to sleep. By the time he opened his eyes, Yuuri found himself drooling over his manuscript. Glasses discarded on the floor. Cheek pressed against his kitchen counter, Yuuri ruffled his hair. He needed a change of scenery if he wanted to keep what was left of his sanity. The cookie crumbs flaked from his mind every time his fingers poised themselves to type, and it was only a matter of time before Dr. Vicchan was on his hind-legs to prescribe a morning walk.

Yuuri hoisted Vicchan into the air, and the poodle squirmed. Trying to nibble at Yuuri’s fingers as Yuuri ruffled kisses and tiny barks into Vicchan’s fur. Exciting the poodle until Vicchan’s love tank was fun and tipped over with affections. Craning his neck, Vicchan licked Yuuri’s nose. His tail wagged like a rudder for a ship on a bottle. Wagged so quickly that Vicchan created enough of a breeze to rustle Yuuri’s manuscript. Papers flew into the air and fell like the summer snow before Yuuri did as Vicchan prescribed.

He didn’t linger long in front of the mirror. Aware that he was still the same Yuuri as yesterday, and no amount of toothpaste or mock-howling could ever change that while Vicchan serenaded Yuuri in a badly tuned song. Little squeaks at the end of his borks before he wrestled into the dirty laundry basket, poking his head up as a pair of sweatpants clung to the curls of his fur. He slipped out, knocking the laundry basket down with him, and wiggled into a pant-leg. Yuuri quietly crept towards Vicchan’s squirming-form before pinning him softly against his fingers.

With a simple snap, Yuuri opened one of the exits and Vicchan squeezed out through a leg-hole. As soon as he found Yuuri, Vicchan hopped onto his hind-legs and pawed at Yuuri’s arms. Trying to lick the toothpaste off from Yuuri’s face, but Yuuri batted his hands and created a weak barrier that Vicchan couldn’t pass through. Well, Vicchan could if he wanted. Simply, Vicchan didn’t want to hurt his human’s pride.

This was how, about ten minutes later, Yuuri was able to face the world. A bloody manuscript tucked under his arm and a chirping Vicchan by his side. Yuuri could stand on the side of sanity and relish the kisses from the sun and yet, walk in the shadows that parted and let him pass when he had one of his rough days ahead of him at the publishing house.

In this sliver of a dark wedding cake, sliced but not pulled from the apartment complex, Yuuri whistled a little tune. The pitter-patter of Vicchan’s footsteps and his tiny yelps accompanied the music, and Yuuri’s heart eased into a steady beat.

He thought about sitting in the grass while Vicchan chewed on a stick. Perhaps, purchase a smoothie from the local store and take a sip as he reviewed his midnight edits. Maybe laugh at the frantic comments he scribbled between the margins and pat his back. Reassuring yesterday-him that things were getting better, one pen stroke at a time. And actually, while he was at it, reassure yesterday-him that some of the parts he scribbled on weren’t that bad. Jumbled at most, but not atrocious! A simple clean up, not a strike-through. A good plan to transition with and Yuuri couldn’t have been happier.

Yuuri found that his thoughts were muted a bit when one of the doors to his right, about three rooms away from his, opened with a jostle to the doorknob. A tiny crack creaked into the silent hallway and enough horror films from Detroit begged the question of why Yuuri was approaching the ominous door. Opened on its own without a soul within arm’s length. Vicchan would raise his eyebrows if he could, and he wrestled with the leash. Urging Yuuri to get away while they still could. However, such a simple mystery turned to a different genre when a black nose peeked out.

A deep sniff inspected the vicinity before a booming bork echoed in the darkness. As if a gear had shifted, Vicchan was the one dragging Yuuri towards the door while Yuuri dug into his sneakers. Quite literally, skidding across the floor by the sheer determination of a poodle with one thought on his mind. Every step lured Yuuri closer to his neighbor’s door until the fixture swung open without warning.

Yuuri had only read of his feeling before:  _ where the world slowed into a crawl and voices were merely whispers that the mind couldn’t register.  _ His manuscript flew. One page at a time. All his errors, his mistakes, and the beginnings of a flawed love swept over Yuuri’s eyes when he fell back.

Vicchan’s red leash tightened around Yuuri’s ankles. Tried to hold him back from falling, from tipping over the edge into oblivion. The place wasn’t foreign to Yuuri, but he never splashed into it quite like this.

An arm leapt from the darkness, linked to a person Yuuri had never seen before. With this arm, with this  _ angel  _ that emerged at his darkest hour, Yuuri found him pressed against the man’s chest. Held steady, warmth flushed across his cheek from the contact. The faint scent of strawberries prompted Yuuri to look up, a scarlet paintbrush had skimmed the curves of his face. As if there was nothing else in this world, besides him, this scent, and this person that held Yuuri so he wouldn’t fall again.

His nose poked into his angel’s shirt, meandering upwards as the strawberry-scent grew stronger. And then, there was a patch above the collarbone and against the neck where the scent was the strongest. Yuuri leaned into it, upon instinct for the scent eased some sort of nail that had rusted into the corner of his heart. What was this? A ship on a bottle materialized in Yuuri’s mind when he laid his cheek over the patch of skin and breathed in. His eyelashes fluttered for a moment before he closed eyes and drifted into the quiet of a stream.

Yuuri couldn’t describe how or why this scent made him behave this way. However, if one could bottle what affection and trust smelled like, then Yuuri felt as if he was at home when he leaned against his angel. He was in a place where the darkness from his mind couldn’t reach him and for the first time, he felt like hadn’t failed someone. It couldn’t be described in words or with gestures, but it was an urge that felt right when Yuuri embraced his angel.

His arms, loose liked a golden ribbon, around his angel’s torso. The angel’s arms slid down Yuuri’s back and rested comfortably near his waist. Enough where Yuuri could move and adjust himself as he found himself lost in the moment. Something inside him began to ache as soon as he felt a heartbeat against his own. Synchronized to the very last thump when time had passed, and Yuuri drew away from the scented neck as a changed man.

Reality and rationale flooded where sensibility had taken root, and Yuuri felt the bullet wound in his heart. A hole punctured as dread spilled down from his chest and splattered somewhere between his shoes. Somewhere between his neighbor’s shoes because Yuuri returned his favor by sniffing the man’s neck. On what plane of existence was this acceptable between neighbors? Moreover, it was an intimate moment that spanned for ninety seconds, and his neighbor did nothing. Whether he was afraid to move while Yuuri embraced him, or too disturbed to shove Yuuri out of the way after saving his life. In the end, Yuuri had ruined their first encounter.

He wanted to run. Fetch Vicchan and backtrack to his front door so that he could relive this morning right. However, life wasn’t like that. Yuuri couldn’t just mark through the last few paragraphs with a red pen and hope that his writer could do better _. _ He wondered why his neighbor wasn’t saying anything, he wondered why he was still here, and Yuuri wondered if he should just push himself out of the way. Leave with what dignity he had left and never leave his living quarters again.

Yuuri may’ve flashed through fifty shades of red before his neighbor carefully perched his thumb underneath Yuuri’s chin. Tilted Yuuri’s head upwards and he found an ocean looking back at him through a curtain of silvery locks. If love at first sight was considered a second fiddle, what instrument was tuning within the realms of Yuuri’s heart when he found himself lost to his heart’s inhibitions again? Yuuri heard the flicker of a piano next to his ear when one of his manuscript papers landed over his hair, and his neighbor lifted the sheet.

Delicately, not a crease stained the cover page. The signature of Yuuri’s name reflected across his neighbor’s teal eyes. Not only did Yuuri embarrass himself _ ,  _ but now his neighbor knew his name. Forever associating  _ Yuuri Katsuki  _ with a blunder that nearly triggered liability insurance to the fifth degree and of by the abrupt intimacy that was closer than any kiss in Yuuri’s history.

This reality was as unforgiving as any imagination when Yuuri looked out from the corner of his eyes. Simply to notice how Vicchan sniffed a gentle poodle _ \--’Makkachin’, Yuuri read from the bronze-bolded collar tag-- _ with a wag to his tail. Truly, the odds weren’t in Yuuri’s favor. His four-legged roommate found a new friend, and Yuuri potentially landed himself a new, one-sided enemy that probably never wanted to see his face again.

 

 

When sunlight filtered into the darkest crook of the apartment complex, a brush of pink and orange outlined Yuuri’s figure. As if gold was laced to his name when Viktor peered down at the manuscript’s cover page again before a flicker of his gaze.  Where Yuuri’s glasses slipped and Viktor found himself lost in his neighbor’s eyes. Viktor found two colors if he narrowed his gaze. The light brown in the background with a poignant golden ring around Yuuri’s pupil, much as how a sunflower stood in the blaze of an autumn harvest before it bore it seeds. One by one, dispersing until a seed wiggled into the crevice of Viktor’s heart and sprouted into a leafy green.

When Yuuri tilted his head, his gaze situated at a corner, it was easier to peel away the curious flirt that wandered so closely to Viktor’s front door. So suddenly to fall and be caught in Viktor’s arms at the slightest churn of entropy, so suddenly to hold Viktor’s heart between those clasped hands when Yuuri drew them close and laid them over his chest. In a nervous fidget, but the gesture looked so natural. His fingers crossed softly over one another in what appeared to be an innocent tease, and Yuuri didn’t know of how easily he had caught more than just Viktor’s attention.

With Yuuri like this, hanging on by a thread and with his neck exposed to Viktor’s gaze, a whiff of lemons and peppermint from a Christmas bottle elicited a burn across Viktor’s chest. He shook his head gently, and a mess of his bangs corralled to the side as he studied Yuuri’s display of trust and vulnerability. Quite literally, Yuuri leaned as far as he could in Viktor’s arms. Almost testing Viktor, trying to see where this good will would fail. Alas, a doctor always had a hand on their patient in case they stumbled again.

Viktor was no different. Endeared how Yuuri’s strong impression melted into a soft, warm beginning. Better than any cup of coffee for the start of Viktor’s day. He gently squeezed Yuuri’s side, diverting the wayward glance back onto himself. The curiosity that rosied Yuuri’s eyes and the part to his lips were like a medicine, teetering on the edge of a counter and Viktor was the child that wanted the bottle to fall into his hands. However, Viktor didn’t know how much of Yuuri he could hold for his prescription. After all, Viktor needed permission from a fair doctor if he was to hold Yuuri like this in the future. Perhaps, a time would come when they both were a little older and able to stand with their backs behind the world.

In the meantime, a subtle allure graced Yuuri’s smile when he gazed fondly at Viktor. Not with fear this time around, though a chapel of nervous laughter that spilled in this warm silence.

* * *

If ever Viktor could hear that laugh again, he heard it when Yuuri hunched his shoulders and did it now. His thighs pressed together, in such a way that a bout of nerves couldn’t be captured in the twitches along his hands. And perhaps, in front of anyone else, Yuuri would’ve sounded like a madman.

Face angled downwards and Viktor couldn’t catch his gaze. His torso shook and Yuuri couldn’t hold himself back. He managed to tilt his head upwards, a splash of tears welled in the corner of his eyes, and a teardrop trailed down the curve of his face. If only Viktor could reach out and catch the tear along his finger, hold it under the lights. Feel the swell of such a weight against his presence, and Yuuri’s curious eyes lured Viktor a step further away from the professionalism he should’ve worn.

It was difficult to hide behind the mask of Dr. Nikiforov when Viktor when more comfortable in being himself in front of Yuuri.

When Yuuri curved his hair behind his ear, he searched within himself for what else he could say. It was that wayward shift that overtook Yuuri’s attention when he found comfort in the repetitive lines, etched onto the tiled floor. The boxes and their symmetry gave him a peace. Viktor wondered if Yuuri found the same in him. The security of a support that was as transparent as it had been shown, but Viktor knew that he could never be one of the squares that lingered in Yuuri’s eyes. His lines curved and a few never joined, still branching to find the missing piece that made them complete. Therefore, in a sense, was Yuuri looking for strength within himself, or was he waiting for Viktor to accept how vulnerable he was right now?

Hanging onto Yuuri’s every word, curious as to what would come next. Was the tremor within Yuuri’s heart, this mysterious pain that warranted a doctor’s appointment, fear of rejection? Fear, that Viktor didn’t reciprocate the same affections?

If it wasn’t for how closed Yuuri’s body was _ \--hunched, limbs pressed against his body to appear small, the shuffle of his eyes, and the accompanying twitches-- _ Viktor would’ve prescribed an embrace to alleviate the worry. At least six times a day, before and after each meal to lull the body into peace and comfort when the mind found itself preoccupied.

Viktor slipped off from his stool as soon as Yuuri said, “I guess the condition comes and goes, without a concrete schedule.”

_ ‘The condition’  _ being the pangs of passion. Viktor knew of such a pain and he knew it well

* * *

The pain first settled when Viktor pressed an oiled pan over his stove. The cackle of a counter’s turn and an orange flame blossomed, with flower petals licking the carapace of an iron vessel before the first strip of bacon laid bare. A sizzle, a burst of lipids and caramelized proteins bolded and curled the bacon’s edges. Makkachin slipped out from her usual seat at the dining counter, and the fluff of her tail rubbed against Viktor’s leg. The jingle of her dog tag serenaded the sizzles until a bork later, Makkachin scrambled back to her usual seat. A sliver of bacon between her teeth, hot out of the pan and into the fire of Makkachin’s belly.

As Viktor cooked breakfast, cracking an egg between the bacon strips and soaking in the grease, he couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous portion he created for himself. Seven strips of bacon, four egg yolks, a heaping amount of grease that could clog an artery if he made this breakfast for another week or more, and an extra dollop of butter. Sliced from an intact bar before Viktor reached up and grabbed two plates, two forks, two knives, and a pinch of pepper for breakfast.

Naturally, Makkachin had nothing from the second plate. Her breakfast consisted of a few fruit slices and supplementary kibble that kept her bones strong in her weary age. So exactly, how was a doctor to eat two plates of breakfast and head to the office on time?

Well, Viktor used the nag in the back of his mind for something.  He didn’t pluck an extra set of utensils just to eat with empty space looking back at him. He shifted out from his seat with one purpose, and one purpose, alone, within his thoughts as Viktor undid his apron’s knot and felt the fabric slip from his person.

Makkachin lifted her head from the counter and whined. She reached out a paw and caught the back of Viktor’s dress shirt, tugging a piece of the fabric that had been tucked between his waist and belt. Viktor reassured her with a gentle rub under the jaw, enough where Makkachin dozed off into her happy place and lowered her paw.

It was a cheap trick, but it eased Makkachin’s nerves whenever Viktor did something that was outside of his schedule. He peered down at his watch, noted the time, and stepped out from his front door. Six a.m. had never felt so quiet when intrepid steps ricocheted up to Viktor’s ears when he walked down three doors. Stopped in front of the very room that housed Yuuri Katsuki on the other side.

Truth be told, he didn’t know the man’s schedule very well. Viktor knew that Yuuri typically came home late, stupering up the apartment steps with a wheeze. The sound of his poodle scratching the door prompted the softest commands of Japanese that Viktor had ever heard. The words somehow flew to Viktor’s door when he happened to pass by, and his heart began to ache. Not noticeable at first until Viktor felt the urge to whisper Yuuri’s name. His full name, just to be sure about something that his mind had yet to process during the past few days of radio silence.

The very least, a proper introduction with a side of breakfast would clear the air and ease the distortion that illustrated a beautiful visage in Viktor’s mind.

Of him, laying in the grass somewhere while Makkachin and Yuuri’s poodle frolicked amongst the bushes. And before Viktor could close his eyes in the fantasy, Yuuri’s face appeared above him. Roughly four inches away. So close, Viktor could feel Yuuri’s breath tickle the side of his face. Petals from a cherry tree scattered in his hair and they fell, one by one, over Viktor’s face. While as his hand reached upwards and curved along the softness of Yuuri’s cheek before they…

_ “Infatuation hasn’t struck this hard since med school,”  _ Viktor whispered to himself. His native accent peppered through his speech as thoughts as his textbooks came to mind. However, this was different. An infatuation for knowledge turned to something more lifelike and filling for Viktor’s hands if he wanted to shake Yuuri’s. He could still feel the warmth of Yuuri’s waist from a few days prior when Viktor knocked on the front door.

No response.

Granted, it was early in the morning and Yuuri came home at around midnight. Not that Viktor kept track of that, but it was hard to ignore the heavy clunks of Yuuri’s footsteps after a rough day at the...well, Viktor could only assume that an editor gave Yuuri a rough time. If he thought back to the papers, scattered throughout this very hallway from a bloody manuscript when they first met.

Viktor knocked once more. The scratches of Yuuri’s poodle surfaced on the other side, and the tiniest bork reached out. A little black nose brushed against the door, sniffing. And then a yip, a howl, and a bork came out. All at once. Like an alarm and eventually, Viktor heard the stir of footsteps on the other side. Of a hoarse voice when Yuuri unlocked the door and swung it open. Unsure of who was standing in front of him before Yuuri’s eye widened when he stared at Viktor’s hands and remembered the familiar touch that had graced his lower back.

A quiver of his Adam’s apple before he formally met Viktor’s gaze. For a moment, it appeared that Yuuri wrestled with a confliction when his tongue licked the dry curve of his mouth. His foot gently nudged Vicchan back into the apartment space, leaving him and Viktor alone. Like this, with both exposing more of their vulnerability than either was used to. With Viktor modestly dressed without his suit, and Yuuri stood naked under his sleepwear. A fine line between professionalism and trust had been blurred, and a deliberation rattled between Yuuri’s teeth. All too soon, Viktor suspected that he had done something wrong.

“I’m sorry for the short--” The only thing that shushed Viktor was when Yuuri reached out and pressed his finger against Viktor’s lips.

The lurch forward accompanied by a slight stumble when Yuuri had to reach up, onto his tippy toes to comfortably meet Viktor where he felt that they were equals. So close like this _ \--almost a reflection to Viktor’s earlier fantasy-- _ there was a sly shift to Yuuri’s gaze when he surveyed down and bit his bottom lip. Upon seeing the pinkish perk from Viktor’s, accompanied by a familiar scent of strawberries and breakfast. Enough to water Yuuri’s mouth when he peered back into Viktor’s eyes, and the fair doctor tilted his neck to the side. If Yuuri cared to have an inspection before a thorough examination.

Alas, Yuuri pertained some rationale when he lowered his finger and straightened the wedge of Viktor’s collar. Almost as if he wanted to bask against Viktor’s scent again, for a little while longer, before Yuuri pulled away. Folding his arms behind him so he couldn’t reach out again.

_ “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be there,” _ he whispered. Yuuri’s glasses were clipped to the front of his t-shirt, sagging by the collar down into a shallow ‘V’ that outlined the pink crawling up his neck.

A shade of lemon and a touch of mangoes lingered at Viktor’s lips, almost like a kiss that he couldn’t define. When he glanced down, he found that Yuuri was in nothing else but a t-shirt and the hem of his boxers trickled from below his shirt. Just a bit, but it exposed the pale flush of his thighs. How if Viktor could and if they were closer, he would’ve trailed his finger up to the intersection and would find a way to elicit into Yuuri the same intoxication that Yuuri had lapped onto him. Alas, such a thought was merely so when Yuuri closed his front door and Viktor was alone again.

“He’s coming…” Viktor whispered to himself, bringing a finger to his lips and he trailed the faint touch that Yuuri left behind. “He’s coming for breakfast.”

A bit of swish to his walk when Viktor retreated to the comfort of his apartment space, and Makkachin checked his temperature with her paw when Viktor sat down at the dining counter. Her paw prodded Viktor’s skin until Dr. Makkachin borked thrice for good luck and nuzzled her snout against Viktor’s chest. Viktor lifted her head, gently scratching into the squish under her chin before planting a kiss onto her nose. It was hard to deny that Viktor was in a good mood, and Makkachin could smell an inkling of affection from another on Viktor’s face.

 

 

“He must be pissed about that liability insurance fiasco,” Yuuri mumbled under his breath. Peeling out from his t-shirt and fiddled around in his closet, pulling together a checkered outfit that spelled more innocence than guilt when Yuuri inspected himself in front of a mirror. A quick twirl to see if anyone could spell g-u-i-l-t-y,  _ not  _ clearly written on his face. Despite the tremble in his hands when Yuuri donned his glasses and tried to smile.

Vicchan cocked his head to the side; a tiny growl reverberated in his throat when he squished himself against Yuuri’s pillow. The laws of humans were strange for a poodle, but Vicchan could assure his human that Viktor didn’t stop by to talk about insurance. Viktor smelled of love and yet, the smell was unnoticed by Yuuri when he scrambled for his keys. Strange, for the love accompanied the lovely, strawberry-scent that Yuuri was enamored with. A yawn facilitated whatever encouragements Vicchan hoped to send, and he crawled out from under Yuuri’s blankets when his human was on the move.

Vicchan followed Yuuri to the front door, past the threshold, the lingering steps to three doors over, and upon the arrival to Viktor’s front door. Where Yuuri stopped in his tracks, wondering if this was just a grave mistake. Vicchan rammed his head against the back of Yuuri’s ankle, nudging him to do what he needed. Yuuri borked softly as thanks.

“You know, Vicchan.” Yuuri licked the corner of his mouth, forgot to apply a bit of chapstick. “For a moment back there, I had a feeling that he liked me.”

His knuckles an inch away from the heavy door. About to knock, but unsure of what would happen next. Vicchan borked softly in support. Yuuri wanted to believe that what he said was true. It was nothing short of crazy. He only met Viktor about four days ago. To say that he was in love was a prize for rotten judgment if things went wayward from was to be expected. Even so, Yuuri couldn’t kid that Viktor had left a definite impression on him.

_ He’s just being nice,  _ Yuuri told himself. He knocked thrice and heard the stir of footsteps on the other side. Vicchan retreated into the apartment space and closed the door behind him with a soft click, leaving Yuuri alone for when Viktor opened the door.

_ He’s a good neighbor,  _ Yuuri told himself,  _ and a wonderful man. _

* * *

_ He’s charming,  _ Yuuri thought. His breath hitched to the back of his throat when Dr. Nikif-- _ no, when Viktor sat next to him on the examination table.  _ Their hands brushed, not as awkward like their little ‘dates’ for dinner or when Yuuri proposed a few, scheduled outings so that Viktor and he could grow closer.

As neighbors, but that was a lie Yuuri often told himself when his heart ached thrice over.

Once for how he shied away from Viktor’s gradual advances or from his consensual touches. By a napkin, to sweep a loose strand away from Yuuri’s eyes, or pressing a hand softly against the square of Yuuri’s back when he walked upstairs. A firm grasp that would catch him if ever he fell, and Yuuri would bite his tongue and hope that he didn’t fall. Again, to the man that enthralled his senses more than his mind could comprehend. He could recognize Viktor by touch, alone. He could know Viktor blind, simply by the sound of his breaths and the footsteps he left behind as a memory. In the end, Yuuri suspected that he would know Viktor at the edge of the world if this life were to die tomorrow and if he couldn’t convey what he wanted to say right now.

Twice for when Yuuri’s body moved on its own and enticed Viktor. Simply acting upon the messages threaded from the heart, and Yuuri wished that his mind could understand how much this meant to him. How could someone express their affection if they didn’t take the initiative into their own hands? Not only that, it often felt like a waiting game between him and Viktor. Wondering who would act first between the two and often, Viktor lingered his stillness a little longer to see if Yuuri would change his mind. He never pushed Yuuri to do something and sometimes, Yuuri wished that he did. It probably would’ve saved a lot of time and a lot of heartache, and Yuuri figured that Viktor would’ve move on and sought closure from someone else. In the end, Yuuri was just a memory that was too sharp for Viktor to forget.

The third pain _ \--and often, Yuuri watched as a piece of himself fractured from his whole-- _ was when Viktor never moved on. It was hard to understand, those first few months, of how someone could still hold on with barely any reciprocation. Viktor was just a charming individual that found a sprout, hidden under shade, and watched it blossom and grow from its baby stem and leaves. How many times, in Viktor’s mind, did he cringe or feel disheartened when Yuuri took two steps back after one-step of moving forward in their courtship? To even suggest that this was a courtship aced Yuuri’s heart. He did nothing that could possibly catch Viktor’s eye and yet, here they were. Sitting side by side, wondering who would initiate the first touch.

_ He’s nervous, just like me.  _ How could Yuuri ignore the light flick of Viktor’s bangs? His fingers crumbled over his lap before Viktor casted one of his hands into the short expanse between him and Yuuri. Made things a little easier and Viktor’s hand did look lonely.

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat when his fingers bridged the distance. A small poke and then, Yuuri curled his fingers around Viktor’s and held him. Eventually, Viktor migrated his hand and ran his fingertips over the back of Yuuri’s hand. A small escalation, enough where Yuuri could pull away if he wanted to. Instead, Yuuri curled his toes and his breaths rattled from between his lips. A slip from falling, all because of this simple, elegant touch. Much like fine linen or silk against Yuuri’s skin, and his mind buzzed to scrape together a logical explanation as to why Viktor was doing this.  _ Any of this.  _ No answer sounded sweeter than love.

_ He’s not afraid of who I am.  _ The familiar pang of a thorn bush rubbing Yuuri’s heart felt numb. Viktor’s fingers trailed down towards his wrist and counted the rhythmic pulse etched beneath Yuuri’s skin. And if Yuuri cared to, he could’ve checked Viktor’s pulse. Were their pulses the same, or were they different at first before they synchronized at each other’s touch?

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he had the courage to reach out. He had reached out so much during the past nine months in Viktor’s presence, but those reaches were from an impulse. Merely a defense for the nervous wreck that invaded the mind, and Yuuri wasn’t sure if Viktor would be disappointed in what he would feel.

_ You’re sitting here, next to me.  _ Yuuri looked into Viktor’s eyes as his equal.

Yuuri asked if Viktor could repeat himself. Viktor said something, but Yuuri only heard a snippet. Of  _ ‘you’  _ and  _ ‘me’  _ and  _ ‘us’.  _ Perhaps, those three words weren’t in the same statement, but Yuuri heard them when Viktor posed this: “Are you curious as to how I feel?”

Was it a crime in how Viktor’s fringe slid over his eyes?,so delicately and itched a twitch over Yuuri’s hands.

“If you show me,” Yuuri said, already reaching out and brushing the soft fringe away so he could see Viktor’s eyes again. A smile brushed over Viktor’s lips when he cradled Yuuri’s touch against his other hand. Instead of the wrist, where the pulse felt so distant, he pressed Yuuri’s finger against the base of his jaw.

His fingertips explored this new space until Yuuri found a pulse that poked back at him. Warm, it spoke nothing but adoration and soft words. Tender, for it sung a rhythm that melted Yuuri’s senses and he fell against Viktor. Not just for support, but to remind himself that Viktor was still here. To remind himself that Viktor was real and he returned all of his- _ -and if not more- _ -affection that Yuuri could ever ask for.

_ You love me.  _ Yuuri didn’t have a flower, where he could pluck the petals and sway between a  _ ‘no’  _ or a  _ ‘yes’.  _ Viktor gave Yuuri his definite answer when he crept to this side of the room. Yet once more, Yuuri’s heart ached again. Not in pain, but because he had been a fool for so long and Viktor still accepted him, anyway.

Buried in that crevice between Viktor’s neck and shoulder, Yuuri closed his eyes. A ship on a bottle materialized in his mind when a field of strawberries crept from Viktor’s scent. Somewhere along the way, Yuuri pressed his words against Viktor’s neck. He felt the jolt of Viktor’s person, how his grip on Yuuri’s hand tightened to regain his sense of reality. Ever-so slightly, Yuuri could hear the flutter of Viktor’s eyelashes when Yuuri whispered sweet nothings against Viktor’s skin. Simply for it healed his aching heart, and Yuuri could press his words elsewhere if Viktor so desired.

He pulled away slowly, letting Viktor prepare himself for what was to come. They were in a place where darkness couldn’t touch them, and the only darkness Yuuri wanted to see was when he closed his eyes and thought about how sweet Viktor’s lips would feel against his own. There were so many things that Yuuri wanted to do, and he was ready to take this, one step at a time, if Viktor would stay close to him.

_ Forgive me; I was lost for a long time. _

* * *

The listless wandering of a heart lost in its devotion was much like an egg. Thrown into the gauntlet for a feast, plummeting with its wings outstretched, and met the cool and unforgiving edge of a hatchet. Before the shell cracked into two, splintered down the middle as a creamy yolk gushed down the blade. Whisked by a steady hand before the remains met the inferno of a dollop-whipped, crème fresh. Straight out from the fridge and drizzled over as a plastic spatula folded the yolk together for a delicious treat after dinner. Perhaps afterwards, Viktor undid the knot to his apron when the doorbell rang. Makkachin answered the door.

Right on cue, not a minute later than he usually was, Yuuri Katsuki’s back was the first thing Viktor saw when he glanced up from his work. A tasteful, red dress shirt with what appeared to be a coat hanging off from Yuuri’s elbow before he turned his head. Spun on the flat of his heel and Viktor studied how a perfect attire defined a more than imperfect man. Yuuri was that imperfection that Viktor could polish late into the night and still find him beautiful, no matter how many fissures decorated the smooth etch of his skin.

Yuuri passed the threshold, a little shaky in his steps, and his hair was combed back. Slicked with some sort of remedy that cleaned his casualness with an appearance that left little to Viktor’s imagination. He glanced elsewhere. Gesturing a hand to the dining counter and murmuring that dinner was almost ready.

This was perhaps their thirtieth date _ \--dubbed “scheduled outing”-- _ and this was the first time that Yuuri had out-classed Viktor at his own game. Viktor accepted the defeat with grace, knowing that the powdered flour in his hair and the apron around his waist gave him a perceived-softness while Yuuri appeared to have stepped out from a fairytale. Ready to whisk his Cinderfella by the hand, but not without dinner in their bellies first.

Yuuri spoke when he took his usual seat at the kitchen counter. “I saw a publisher earlier today, and then I remembered that we had dinner. Thought it’d be nice if you could see me like this.” Yuuri drummed his fingers against his side of the dining counter. “What do you think?”

Viktor didn’t miss the opportunity to scan Yuuri up and down, once more when he settled his dessert-mix back into the refrigerator and grabbed two bowls for dinner. “With whatever you wear, you’re still Yuuri to me.”

Viktor ladled a fine, thin broth before a few mussels and clams decorated the rim. Tender, flaky fish filled the centre. A sprinkle of diced herbs and fresh mint before Viktor walked and placed Yuuri’s bowl down first. A bottle of champagne and white wine opened with a pop, and Viktor gave a generous pour into two, twin glasses before seating them next to their respective bowls. Viktor slipped out from his apron and folded it neatly behind his chair.

“If you do want to know the truth,” Viktor sliced into his fish and was satisfied with how it was done in the centre, “I think you’re handsome.” He didn’t take his eyes off of Yuuri when he tasted his creation.

Yuuri clinked his knife against his bowl rather loudly, as if to drown out what he thought Viktor had said. No, what he  _ knew  _ Viktor had said. Even though Yuuri should’ve been used to this for the past seven months now, all of this and plus more felt new with every interaction. Enough, where Yuuri’s heart ached faster than it did before, and his cheeks flushed with more of the same confusion as his heart wrestled with his mind.

_ This is my design,  _ Yuuri thought. He tasted Viktor’s fish. There was a zesty, lemon seasoning coated over the meat. It was soft, easy to swallow without a chew. Almost a distraction for Yuuri’s mouth, but not quite when he filled the silent dinner with his musings and of a project he picked up. Viktor leaned closer, easier where he listen as he ate and drank. No matter how strange Yuuri’s ideas were, he always had a listening ear when Yuuri needed one. And perhaps, Yuuri could use this to his advantage when he had more on his mind than just a simple idea for a story.

“Have you,” a swish of champagne before the rim of the glass touched Yuuri’s lips, “enjoyed the pleasure of,” a few drops stained the end of Yuuri’s mouth when Viktor couldn’t take his eyes off from him, “another?”

With a clink against his dinner plate, Yuuri rested his champagne glass. Just as Viktor remembered he had food in his mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow before Viktor wiped his mouth. He lifted his fork again, already parting a piece of fish from its whole before he waved the bite underneath his nose. The spices and spritz of lemon coaxed Viktor to hold his patience for a little while longer before he could respond.

“I’ve had many pleasures from another. More than I could ever count, more than I think they would ever know,” Viktor added. He raised his glass and clinked it against Yuuri’s, and they drank. Staring at each other as they did before setting their glasses down at the same time.

_ This is it, _ Yuuri thought when he lifted his champagne glass once more. He wondered if he should inebriate himself to the brink of his rationale so that he wouldn’t remember this dinner. It wasn’t a bad idea by any stretch of the imagination, but Yuuri could hold off from the liquor for now.

“I’ve never been in a relationship before,” Yuuri admitted. He gazed down at his plate. “So tell me if what I’m writing sounds off to you.”

“As you wish,” Viktor said. He leaned forward in his seat, swished his helping of white wine with half-lidded eyes before Yuuri could continue.

“I have a character _ \--let’s call them ‘Y’-- _ and he cherishes ‘V’ very much.” Yuuri paused, letting the background sink onto Viktor’s plate. Even to Yuuri, the entire prospect of this sounded strange. Especially since the pseudonyms were pretty darn close to their actual sources. Viktor didn’t seem to notice the connection and if he did, he was polite enough not to paint it across his face as Yuuri continued. “However, ‘Y’ believes that ‘V’ won’t return his feelings.”

“Are they close?” Viktor’s voice wavered quite a bit towards the end, as if he was projecting a bit of his design into the characters of ‘Y’ and ‘V’.

“As close as they have ever been.” Yuuri raked his middle finger against his thumb. “Sometimes, ‘Y’ believes that ‘V’ does love him.” A tiny burst of relief soothed the burn within Yuuri’s chest. “It’s how they interact and it feels like ‘V’ is luring ‘Y’ in, waiting for ‘Y’ to reciprocate everything they ever gave to him. Romantic and otherwise,” Yuuri added, trying to get his story together. He was pouring too much of himself into these words. He needed to hold himself back, or he’d be lost into these feelings and find his lips bloodied by a three-pronged hook. “However, ‘Y’ thinks that his heart is just playing a game with him.”

Something inside began to ache when Viktor heard those words. A sliver of his bangs fell between his eyes before a curtain covered one of them. “I don’t understand,” slipped out. So quietly, that Viktor’s fingers stiffened when Yuuri heard him.

“He doesn’t understand how a doctor could ever fall in love with a writer.” As painful as it sounded, Yuuri knew in his heart that this was true. “The professions are on opposite sides of the spectrum, and ‘Y’ honestly believes that his heart is trying to play towards a fantasy.”

How many times had Yuuri envisioned himself, thoroughly checked over by Viktor’s hands until all he could moan was,  _ “Dr. Ni...Viktor!”  _ from the overwhelming, slow drawls of indulgence pumped into his body by an expert instrument of design? How many times did Yuuri envision himself, pleasuring Viktor behind the comforts of a curtain, of a door, or underneath a disastrous bed of sheets just so that he could destroy Viktor from his inside and out before repairing him, one brick at a time? How many times did these fantasies play in Yuuri’s mind, simply to distract and fracture the cornerstones of his heart? One by one, the glass would fall and left too many holes for a heart to bear.

Even now, his fantasies were alive. Livid beneath his fingertips when all Yuuri wanted to do was reach across the table, pull Viktor by the collar of his shirt, and taste the white wine that had ghosted Viktor’s lips. To hear the sweet moan as Viktor buckled over the dining counter when Yuuri tugged him across and easily, his mouth could’ve done much more than simply kiss. The rest of the fantasy slipped into a blur, and Yuuri was rather glad that the dining ambiance was accompanied by dim lighting. Viktor couldn’t find the outline of his blush, and Yuuri preferred it that way as explicit thoughts waltzed in the back of his mind.

Viktor tilted his head to the side. His hair neatly brushed over by his fingers. “Has ‘Y’ experienced pleasure from another?”

“Yes.” The answer came out more abruptly than Yuuri thought it did. “But in the end, the experienced convinced him that he could never be loved.”

Viktor fumbled with the edge of his napkin. “So, ‘Y’ fears that ‘V’ will hurt him.”

“He understands that ‘V’ won’t hurt him. At least, that’s what ‘Y’ tells himself’,” Yuuri said. “He’s confused on why someone like ‘V’ would even notice someone like him.”

“If I may,” Viktor took a sip of his wine, “this sounds like a classic example of an understatement.” Viktor lifted and swished the contents of his wine glass. “To ‘Y’, he thinks he appears ordinary. To ‘V’, it couldn’t be far from the truth.”

How many times had Viktor admired the scribble of Yuuri’s pen, when the latter was so lost in his imagination? Etching worlds far beyond anyone’s reach, except for his own, and Yuuri trusted Viktor enough to share these manuscripts. Slowly at first, sliding the papers through the mail slot, and Viktor often read them with his morning cup of coffee. Makkachin laying near his side, and her nose sketched poodles along the margins when Viktor immersed himself into Yuuri’s words. He heard the gulls by the seaside, felt the fire from an eruption, and experienced the joy of holding a child in his arms when Viktor read the description from Yuuri’s words. All of these sensations brought Yuuri’s writing to life, and they colored the gray and dim angles of Viktor’s life.

Less abstract, how many times had Viktor waited for the trill of Yuuri’s laughter? Knowing that such a sweet melody came whenever Viktor cracked a cheesy joke _ \--typically medical-related-- _ and somehow, Yuuri found a grain of humor that sprouted a grin across his lips. At first, he would hide it. Pretend that a laugh hadn’t settled in but after a tease, Yuuri admitted his falsehood and cracked a smile. And then a grin, and then the full outpour of what he couldn’t hide for much longer.

More tangible, how many times had Viktor tallied the moments where a part of him touched Yuuri? Whether from a simple brush, how their knuckles collided when they walked next to each other, when Viktor held Yuuri steady while going up the stairs, and the lingering hand on the shoulder when Yuuri passed Viktor before turning his head back. Perhaps to smile, perhaps to greet, or perhaps his eyes widened when he found the sunrise fastened behind Viktor like a cloak.

What drew Viktor closer to Yuuri was that he was able to add a pinch of extraordinary to the simplest actions that anyone could do. Perhaps, because they came from Yuuri, the beauty behind his gestures was already apparent to Viktor.

“I think ‘V’ will be confused at first.” Viktor wore his heart at his sleeves when he rolled his cuffs back. “They wonder if they did something wrong when ‘Y’ distances himself away.” The slight curl of Yuuri’s fingers didn’t go unnoticed by Viktor. “As ‘Y’ sorts through his feelings, I think ‘V’ will be like a catalyst. Gently nudging ‘Y’ into the right direction until he’s sure of himself and of this love.”

* * *

The subtle notion of his heartbeat reminded Yuuri of water when he closed his eyes. For a second, he traced the outline of Viktor’s face with a stare. In the next, Yuuri heard the purr of a current beneath his waist when he waded into the calm of a stream from his memories.

A fishing pole was firm in his grasp when he trudged into one of Michigan’s veins, and a spool of line danced from his fingertips and flew like the embellishment of a dress. The loop caught along the water’s edge before Yuuri casted his line. The wisp of a lasso cracked over his head before a  _ plop  _ resonated a few yards in front of him. He was alone in this memory, much younger than his present-counterpart. Roosted his chin comfortably into the fur of his collared-coat, and Yuuri reeled in his line. The first jolt of a bite compelled his fingers to move. And there, splashing below the surface, was a fish.

Adorned with a seashell-pattern and Yuuri’s loop had caught its fin. Yuuri drew the fish close and cradled it out from the water. A little pool within his hands to keep it comfortable, and the fish parted its mouth and gasped. Stared absently as Yuuri loosened the end of his line from the fish’s fin before he dipped the creature back into the stream. For a few moments, it stayed before it disappeared back into the gentle depths.

Yuuri casted his line again, expecting more time in between this catch. However, he found the same fish again. This time, the loop was caught around its tail and it flailed until Yuuri reeled it in. Once more, the fish found comfort in the small pool held in Yuuri’s hands as he worked and untangled the loop from the fish’s tail. Placed it gently back into the water, and Yuuri waited a while longer before he casted his line.

Once more, he felt the tug of a catch. Only to find that his loop was caught in a fish’s mouth. The  _ same  _ fish, Yuuri noted, when his catch rested comfortably in his hands. Under the spread of Michigan’s clouds, Yuuri had his first taste of love at first sight. This fish, this simple creature and with all its worth, chose Yuuri above anything else in the stream. The watercress beds weren’t as soft as Yuuri’s palms. The water tasted cleaner, clearer, within Yuuri’s hands than from any trickle casted off from the stream’s edge. The sky appeared bluer, simply because Yuuri could hold the fish higher to admire the view.

Yuuri _ \--his nineteen year-old-self for this distant memory-- _ brought the fish closer to his face. Until he found himself reflected in those golden eyes, and the fish lifted its head and bit Yuuri’s nose. As gently as it could, unsure of its own strength. The shy courage that brought the fish this far was admirable, almost applicable to the space Yuuri found himself in when he blinked. Instead of golden eyes, he found the aquatic teal that lingered behind Viktor’s gaze. The doctor had come so close. Curious, if Yuuri was waiting for him.

Yuuri situated himself, not into the wade of a stream, but into this short wisp that alluded him from Viktor’s lips. Whatever was to come, whatever was to happen in this place with no darkness, Viktor’s consent came in the form of a tilt. A mere angled-difference that made it easier for Yuuri to take the first initiative. Viktor’s eyes were closed, a part to his lips. A trickle of  _ William Tell  _ clouded Yuuri’s thoughts. He was so close and yet, so far.

What if this wasn’t right? What if he couldn’t surprise Viktor like he had for so long?

_ “Close your eyes,”  _ said Viktor’s thumb when it meandered across the bumps of Yuuri’s knuckles.  _ “Slowly wade into the quiet of the stream.” _

No matter how far Yuuri would fall- _ -if he got scared or if a lure couldn’t coax him in the same way- _ -Viktor was the kind fisherman that scooped Yuuri gently from the water. No harm ever came in that shallow pool in his hands, and Yuuri garnered himself a taste when he looked at Viktor’s lips again. It’d be no less of a crime if Yuuri couldn’t feel them now and hear the crumble of a man, split into two before love rebuilt him with one touch at a time. That was Yuuri’s design.

A softness, accompanied by a hint of vanilla extract, coaxed Yuuri from his initial shyness when he began. These tentative kisses, surveying the landscape around Viktor’s capital, didn’t deter the doctor. On the other hand, instead, Viktor was lost in the bliss. A thrust to Yuuri’s gradual advance, a pull when Viktor reeled Yuuri in. The shortness of Viktor’s breaths accentuated the heat upon their lips. Viktor’s fingers crawled towards the first touch of fabric, along Yuuri’s side, and he held on. For dear life.

Viktor trembled when Yuuri softly nipped the curve of his bottom lip. Simply to tease, to remind Viktor of whom he was if he had forgotten already, before Yuuri came back for more. The smell of Viktor’s aftershave grew intense when Viktor kissed Yuuri back. Slow at first, waiting for Yuuri to realize what was to come. The gradual shift flicked a switch in Yuuri’s mind when he parted from Viktor for just a moment.

_ “Are we--?Vikt--!”  _ The rest of his words were found at the tip of Viktor’s tongue. Swirled in the burgundy of passion that burned like a sweet flame. Viktor knew exactly of what could undo and sew Yuuri back together. He didn’t need a needle or a spool for the stitches, not when this kiss more than satisfied the impression Viktor wanted to leave behind. Of Yuuri, breath hitched at the back of his throat and with a velvet moan that felt like silk, draped around Viktor. Of how Yuuri crumbled when Viktor deepened their passion. Until one or both had to fold and Yuuri was near his limit.

His noises, how they grew in volume and Viktor gradually shushed them. With a mere spill of his hands against the back of Yuuri’s shirt. With how his fingers crept over Yuuri’s collar and the chill of his fingertips left a gasp upon Yuuri’s tongue. He pulled away. Panting to ease his burning heart and his glasses slipped. Bumped against the tip of Viktor’s nose. Yuuri wasn’t that far. Just an inch or three away, lost in this medical examination, and Viktor examined thoroughly when his fingers cascaded from the back of Yuuri’s neck.

Viktor opened his eyes. Slow enough where Yuuri came to him in short installments. He had never seen anything more precious than when Yuuri licked his lips. Not just to savor what had happened, but it was how Yuuri prepared himself for when he slipped glasses off. They fell into the little wedge before his and Viktor’s legs touched. Yuuri cupped one of Viktor’s cheeks against his palm. Staring back into the eyes of a masterpiece and Yuuri’s fingers tiptoed down to Viktor’s chin. Supported the bottom of Viktor’s lips with a firm thumb. A few bangs spilled over Viktor’s eyes, and Yuuri brushed them behind to the side.

“I wanted to understand what I was seeing.” Yuuri’s voice barely rose above a whisper, and it didn’t have to. Viktor rested his cheek tenderly against Yuuri’s open palm when it came, and his breaths fluttered against Yuuri’s skin. “I wanted my mind to be clear before I laid eyes on you again.”

“How do you feel about me now?” Viktor pressed his palm against Yuuri’s cheek. Caressed down its slope and found the intersect where the softness and the jawline met. Such a tender touch glistened how endearing Yuuri’s gaze had become. He was so lost in this love.

“I think you’ve pulled me from the dark.” With a flutter of his lashes, Yuuri kissed Viktor. His touch embedded the words,  _ “from all the lies I’ve been telling myself” _ when Yuuri started at Viktor’s forehead before his gradual descent down to Viktor’s lips. It was a simpler kiss. There was no one else to impress, but Yuuri had a few tricks up his sleeve.

He could see Viktor clearly now.

**Author's Note:**

> **Extended Cut**
> 
> Viktor slid his hand into Yuuri’s hair, ruffling the locks in his teasing. “Daily prescription: one kiss in the morning and one at night.”
> 
> “Could I have more?” Yuuri asked, a purr upon his lips when he looked up to Viktor with such bright eyes. Any and all rationale was gone when Viktor glanced at the clock and noted the time.
> 
> “If I can handle it.” No truer answer could’ve slipped before Viktor was falling for Yuuri. All over again.


End file.
